


Grim Struggle

by illyrilex



Category: King of Fighters
Genre: Blood and Gore, Gen, Gore, Halloween, I guess it's kind of a crossover but not really, Nightmares, The Author Regrets Nothing, Violence, Zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-17
Updated: 2019-10-17
Packaged: 2020-12-21 09:22:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21072581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/illyrilex/pseuds/illyrilex
Summary: Fresh off of her crushing defeat at L'Amour, King decides to turn herself in to the authorities for the crimes she committed while employed by Mr. Big. However, her trip to the police station soon veers in a decidedly unexpected direction.





	Grim Struggle

**Author's Note:**

> Oh, you know... just a little something I whipped up with Halloween in mind.
> 
> Please consider not eating until you're done reading this. You'll understand soon enough...
> 
> Onward~!

The young woman who spent months going only by the alias “King” sat in a small holding cell with her arms wrapped around herself, not because she was cold, but because she was trying to keep her mangled shirt from exposing her breasts, which were being poorly concealed by a torn sports bra.

  
The more she thought about how she got there, the more _ ridiculous _ it sounded: Her little brother was seriously ill and her family was drowning in medical debt so she used her proficiency in martial arts (Muay Thai, to be specific) as a means to land a high-paying job as a bouncer at the restaurant she had been waiting tables at. However, the only way to get said job in the first place was to pose as a man. On top of that, it turned out that the restaurant actually belonged to one of the biggest crime lords in the entire city, Mr. Big, who took notice of King’s skills and decided to make her one of his own personal enforcers.

Although King was a little sadistic at times, and all of the people she harmed for the sake of the job were scum, she started to feel bad: Drug deals, bribery, crooked cops… her entire goddamn ruse… it was all slowly eating away at her. She began making plans to go to the police weeks earlier, but was finally pushed over the edge several hours prior, when she learned that Mr. Big had kidnapped the daughter of one of his former associates and was holding her hostage.

Somehow, it only got sillier from there, as, just moments after catching a glimpse of the girl while she was being moved to a different location, King found herself in a brutal fight against the girl’s older brother -- a fellow martial artist -- who defeated her in hand-to-hand combat and blew her shirt wide open, obliterating the athletic tape that was smashing her chest flat, and showing everyone in the vicinity that she was, well… a she. With a big, dark mouse on her forehead and a busted lip she told her opponent and his best friend everything she knew… and when they left, she gingerly dragged herself down to the police station so she could try to make things right.  
  
Not that she really even knew _ what _ the hell was right anymore...  
  
“Levasseur.”

King raised her head so she could look at the officer who addressed her by her actual surname, and not the hastily conjured moniker she conditioned herself to answer to. He stood on the other side of the bars, looking down at the keys in his hand. She was pretty sure she had never seen the man before in her life, but, oddly enough, she felt as if she knew him from somewhere. She watched carefully as he selected a key and used it to unlock the cell.  
  
“I’m Lieutenant Marvin Branagh,” he told her as he pulled the door open. “I’ve been asked to escort you up to interrogation.”  
“Interrogation?” King asked as she gripped herself tighter.  
“Yep. Chief Irons wants to talk to you personally.”  
  
King furrowed her brow. Chief… Irons? Something didn’t seem right. Wasn’t the chief of police named something completely different? And why did this Branagh guy seem so familiar?  
  
“Get moving,” the officer commanded. 

With a sigh King rose from her place on the uncomfortable cot in the back of the tiny cell and slowly followed Lieutenant Branagh through the labyrinthine corridors of the police station, which seemed larger than life itself.  
  
“This place used to be an art museum,” Branagh told her as they entered the main hall.  
“...Oh.”  
  
King took notice of a massive statue of a beautiful goddess in the very back of the foyer. It towered over the room, its white surface heavily contrasting with the yellows and browns of the walls and floors.

“Yeah,” Branagh went on casually, “the building was purchased back in sixty-nine when the museum closed down. There are still a lot of old pieces of ar --”

BLAM!

The sound of a firearm being discharged from somewhere in the distance interrupted the officer. Both him and King jumped, startled by the sound.  
  
“Get in here,” the Lieutenant shouted as he grabbed King’s arm (she lout out a loud gasp) and hastily pulled her into a room with a spade symbol on its door, where they crouched under a locked desk that had a banner that read “Welcome Leon” hanging above it, and waited. It didn't take long before more gunshots issued from somewhere outside.  
  
King turned to Branagh, and, at that exact second, the lights in the office went out. Her breath caught in her throat as she looked around the dark room. Beside her, Branagh pulled out his flashlight before turning his head slightly.

“Edward! Ford! What the hell is going on?! Do you copy?!” He yelled into his shoulder mic.  
  
No answer; just static, followed by the sounds of more gunfire -- and _ screaming _ \-- somewhere just outside the room. Branagh hastily drew his gun: he checked the clip and turned to King before rising from his place on the floor.  
  
“Listen. I’m going to go check it out. You stay here and --”  
“No way!” King exclaimed, jumping to her feet. “There’s no way in hell I’m staying in a dark room by myself while people are screaming and shooting at things!”  
“Okay, fine. But do me a favour and don’t --”  
  
Before Branagh could finish his sentence a door in the rear of the area burst open. King stepped back as she took in the sight: A beat cop leaned heavily against the doorframe, his gun in hand, panting. He was covered in blood.  
  
“Guzman! What happened?!” Branagh all but screamed.  
“They’re… they’re everywhere,” the newcomer gasped.  
“Who?!”  
  
The man called Guzman collapsed to his knees, and King noticed that there was a literal chunk of flesh missing from his neck.  
  
“Hey! Hang on!”  
  
The Lieutenant ran over to Guzman, who fell face down on the tiled floor, bleeding out. King, meanwhile, slowly approached both of them, wide-eyed, as she looked down at the mangled flesh of the cop’s neck -- if it could still be called that. There was no way he would survive such a wound. Almost as if on cue he let out a low death rattle; his legs spasmed, and -- just like that -- he was dead.  
  
“Guzman!” Branagh shouted. He turned the other officer over so he was on his back and carefully reached over to close his eyes, which were still open. King stood, frozen in place… until she heard something just outside the room. Footsteps? She hesitantly peered outside and saw another officer slowly making his way down the hall.  
  
“There's someone else out here,” she informed her companion quietly.  
“Who is it?!”  
“I don’t know,” King replied incredulously. “It’s dark and I don’t know who most of these people are!”  
  
The cop in the hall wordlessly continued to move toward King; she squinted at him and, as he drew closer, realized that there was something very, very wrong, though she couldn’t put her finger on it. She was about to ask him a question but, without warning, he lurched forward and grabbed her; a low, guttural sound came from the back of his throat as he leaned in toward King’s face. At first she thought he was trying to kiss her for some inexplicable reason, but the gnashing of his teeth instantly told her otherwise.  
  
“Lâche-moi!” King cried, panicked, as she realized that the cop was actually trying to _ bite _ her. Right away she struck his testicles with a hard knee and hoped he would let her go, but he didn’t even flinch. The two fell to the floor, with King landing flat on her back as the crazed officer tried to bite her again.

“Levasseur!”

Branagh fired a round directly into the officer’s shoulder: blood immediately began seeping from the wound, but the cop didn’t even react. He drew back and tried to go for King’s throat, but the Lieutenant fired his weapon again, this time directly into the man’s temple: blood splashed all over King’s face as the cop fell forward, landing on top of her with a dull thud.  
  
King didn’t know what to say or what to do. Of all the things she had seen in Southtown’s seedy underworld, an honest-to-god corpse had actually _ not _ been one of them. She drew in a ragged breath as the reality of having a dead body on top of her began to set in. With shaking hands she pushed it off of her and stared at the ceiling, shaking.  
  
“Are you okay?”  
“I… nuh… no,” King sputtered as she finally sat up. She turned toward Branagh -- just in time to see Guzman -- the man who had been dead not even a moment ago -- sit up just enough to bite the Lieutenant’s abdomen. She screamed (involuntarily) as Branagh wrestled the other man off of him. The second he created some distance he raised his gun and fired a round point blank into Guzman’s head, sending brain matter and bits of skull everywhere as the body collapsed.

King stared, horrified, at the now critically wounded Branagh, who sucked air in through his teeth and let out a pained hiss as he shined his flashlight directly on the wound, which was bleeding profusely.  
  
“Holy shit,” King breathed. She stared at the blood soaking through Branagh’s shirt, her thoughts racing. She had seen things like this before… but in movies… and television. There was no way in hell that it could have possibly been...  
  
“Zombies…?” she blurted out in disbelief.  
“What?”  
“Zombies!” King answered. “You know -- the living dead?!”

Before Branagh could respond more screams and gunshots echoed in the distance. He stumbled toward a nearby desk, pulled a handgun out of one of the drawers, and held it out toward King.  
  
“Take it,” he told her.  
“I don’t know how to use it,” King replied as she stared at the weapon.  
“All your time in the mob and you’ve never used a gun?!”  
“Of course not! My _ body _ is the only weapon I’ve ever needed! ”  
“Somehow… I don’t think that’s going to get you very far,” Branagh said through gritted teeth. “ _ Take _ ... the gun!”  
  
King pressed her lips together in a thin line as she grabbed the pistol with a trembling hand.  
  
“Fifteen-shot capacity 9mm handgun,” she said out loud. “Customized with a smaller slide stop to reduce -- how the _fuck_ do I even know this?! I’ve never held a gun in my life!”  
Branagh grimaced.  
  
“Listen, whatever you do, do not hesitate,” he said while clutching his wound. “You shoot or you run…!”  
“What…?” 

King made a face; she could have sworn she had been given this advice -- or something similar -- previously. Was it déja vu? It didn’t matter, though, as another cop stumbled into the room through the open door. 

“RUN!” The Lieutenant shouted as he charged the…thing, striking it with his shoulder and knocking it down.  
  
“What about you?!”  
“Just fucking _ go _!”

King nodded before turning on her heel and sprinting through the dark office, back out to the Main Hall, which still had power: The transition from claustrophobic darkness to open and well-lit momentarily wreaked havoc on her senses. However, that wasn’t important; all she had to do was get the hell out of the station -- get the hell out and never look back. With that in mind, she made her way toward the exit, threw the large doors open… and stopped dead. The sky had opened up and it was pouring outside, but, more importantly, there were zombies _ everywhere _. With an involuntary yelp King quickly pulled the doors shut; obviously the front entrance was a no-go.

After a good minute or so King finally dared to move toward the counter in the front of the room and immediately took notice of a typewriter and a large chest. She quirked a brow; this was getting weirder and weirder… yet somehow vaguely recognizable? Nevertheless she opened the chest and pulled out a flashlight and a box of ammunition. How lucky that they were 9mm Parabellum rounds…

With a sigh, she closed the box and looked around. She had to think of another way out -- but where the hell could she even start? She stuffed the gun halfway down her cummerbund, threw a few bullets into her pocket, and trudged up a set of stairs near the goddess statue, all the while positive that the little bit of sanity she had left was crumbling.  
  
“Okay,” King said out loud as she placed her hand on a doorknob. She took a deep breath before entering another dark hallway. Hands trembling slightly, she switched the flashlight on and held it up so she could see in front of her. She took a step forward… and cried out when a hand closed around her ankle. She immediately turned and kicked the creature (it wasn’t human anymore, damn it) in its head as hard as she could. There was a sickening crack as her foot connected with the zombie’s skull, violently snapping its head and neck backwards.

Free to move around once more, King carefully trudged down the dark hallway, the sounds of the rain outside adding to the already creepy-as-fuck atmosphere of the station. Another zombie lunged at her from a side corridor but she spotted it just in time; she threw a vicious elbow to its nose, caving in the cartilage and pushing it upward into the creature’s brain. It fell to the floor with a heavy thump… and then moaned as it started to claw its way toward her.  
  
“You’ve got to be kidding me…!”  
  
King speedily backed away from the downed officer. She knew she needed to cause irreparable damage to its brain to get it to actually die so she reluctantly pulled the gun from her waistband but stopped: not only had she forgotten to ask how to turn the safety off, but she was still holding a flashlight, which was going to make aiming effectively a little bit of a challenge for her, since she wasn’t trained in such things. She pressed her lips together as she backed away from the shambling thing on the floor. Try to kill it for good and possibly end up shooting herself, or leave it alone and risk it coming back to bite her (literally) later? Before she could give it any further thought cold hands grabbed her from behind; she pulled away just in time to avoid what would have been a nasty chomp to her shoulder and threw a quick roundhouse kick that instantly floored the zombie, whom she recognized as one of Mr. Big’s inside men.  
  
“You were always an asshole anyway,” King muttered as she watched the crooked cop as he (it?) slowly got back up. She stood for just a moment, ready to attack, but then thought better of it: she stowed the gun before quickly taking off down the hall. She rounded a corner and spotted a door with an exit sign just above it. With a delighted gasp she dashed through it, out into the rainy night, and looked around for somewhere to go. She spotted a set of stairs and ascended them as quickly as she could, only to find herself staring at the tail of a helicopter that had crashed into the building. When had that even happened?!  
  
King furrowed her brow and walked through a door that wasn’t far from the wreckage. She was in another part of the police station -- also without power. She followed the short corridor and quickly came to a dead end, as it was blocked by the front end of the helicopter. She let out a huge sigh: she was soaking wet, and lost, and in very real danger of being eaten by _ zombies _, and what was left of her shirt and sports bra were still begging to be put out of their misery, and -- 

King’s thoughts were interrupted by the very loud sound of creaking metal. Her eyes widened as the wrecked chopper was suddenly lifted up by a towering figure clad in a black trench coat and hat. It tossed the large metal debris aside as if it was nothing more than a broken toy and started toward King with a _ purpose _ .  
  
“Jesus Christ !” King shouted as she took a step back. She turned around and ran back down the hall, the slow, thunderous footsteps of her pursuer echoing in her ears as she went. She burst out of the building, back into the storm and stopped for just a second to catch her breath… which proved to be a bad idea, as the giant… man… _ thing _ … very deliberately made his way through the door, which he barely fit through. King took off again, back the way she came. Her lungs burned as she ran as fast as she could, through the dark halls of the police station. She could hear the large person’s calm steps somewhere behind her as she moved, which made her adrenaline pump faster. She needed to go, she needed to go, she needed to --  
  
“FUCK!”

King yelled as she collided with one of the zombies she had left behind earlier. Her flashlight fell from her hand and rolled across the floor as the monster tackled her. She placed one hand on its forehead and the other on its chin and pushed up as hard as she could as it tried to rip her throat out. She didn’t know how she did it, but she was able to kick it off of her and stand. Just as she was straightening up it lunged at her again, but she sidestepped it and continued running through the dark, her flashlight now lost to whatever the hell was behind her.

King ducked into a door she hadn’t previously seen and leaned back against it so she could try to catch her breath, as well as let her eyes adjust, as there was a small, but very bright, high-powered flashlight laying on the floor down the hall, which cast eerie shadows on the quiet area. She placed one hand on the handle of the pistol she still had and closed her fingers around it while she worked to steady her breathing. She was going to have to figure out how to use the god-forsaken thing, and _ fast _ if she wanted any chance at survival.  
  
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Fifteen shots…”  
  
King swallowed hard as she realized that there was a body in the center of the hall, just by the flashlight. There was a very good chance that it was going to get back up, so, with shaking hands, she drew her gun, clicked the safety off (she had no idea how she suddenly knew how to do that) and aimed at the heap on the floor. She stepped forward very slowly as she concentrated on the figure, and jumped back at least two feet when the body was snatched up by… something. 

There was a very distinct, _ disgusting _ squelching sound as blood and entrails dropped from the ceiling, where the corpse swayed and spasmed until it noisily fell back to the floor. King suppressed the urge to vomit as she took in the sight before her as best she could: the thing above her was… sort of humanoid in its appearance, but it didn’t seem to have skin: striated muscle tissue was visible on its legs and arms, but, somehow, the fleshless appendages weren’t anywhere near as disturbing as the large, exposed brain on its head, or the very long, slick tongue that hung out of its mouth.  
  
King gasped and took a step back as the creature began to scurry toward her. She gripped the pistol as tight as she could and squeezed the trigger, sending a bullet whizzing past the monster’s arm. She fired another round, but this one bounced off of one of several thick claws on its front leg. It didn’t seem to like that, as it jumped down from the ceiling and landed in front of her, its razor sharp teeth wet with drool and fresh blood. She fired another shot -- this one actually lodged into its thigh -- which slowed it down for only a fraction of a second before it pounced. It knocked King to the floor -- her head hit the wood _ hard _ \-- and reared up, ready to strike, but she kicked it in its knee-joint, which sent it toppling backwards. She clumsily rose to her feet, and realized just a second too late that the door behind her had swung open. She turned around and was suddenly face to face (well, face to chest) with the large person that had been chasing her through the station. She quickly aimed her gun and fired, knocking the hat off of the lumbering giant’s head, revealing a distorted gray face that held no expression whatsoever. 

Before King could do anything else she was struck by her enormous pursuer; it felt like she had been hit by the fucking wall itself: bones cracked; she was pretty sure her ribs and arm were broken from the single hit, which sent her flying directly into the path of the beast she had been squaring off against. It jumped up and closed a clawed hand over her face, taking her down. Her head swam as she struggled to free herself to no avail: the creature then drew a muscular arm back and struck with its claws, ripping through King’s chest and shoulder. She screamed as warm, dark blood rushed from the wounds, staining her white shirt a deep crimson. She kicked the critter in the leg she had previously struck, which -- thankfully -- made it loosen its grip on her. She tried to get to her feet, but the monster reared back and sunk a massive claw directly into her abdomen.

King couldn’t scream -- she couldn’t do _ anything _: Tears streamed down her face as she struggled to breathe. The thing plunged its claws even deeper, and King could taste her own blood as it rose from her esophagus, choking her. She coughed, sending the hot liquid upward and out of her mouth like a broken fountain while the monster made a noise that was unlike anything she had ever heard before. Her vision blurred as she realized with a massive degree of sadness that she wasn’t going to see her brother, Jean, ever again. He was going to be stuck with their aunt and uncle -- without her -- because she somehow ended up joining the fucking mob. King coughed again and was taken aback by the sick gurgling sound that she made as the fiend on top of her suddenly drew back once more. It used its tongue to lick blood off of her face before it sprung forward and plunged its razor sharp teeth right between her neck and shoulder, tearing skin and muscle directly from the bone. She let out one last whimper as her broken body was ruthlessly dragged into the dark.

###

“Trick-or-treat!”  
  
The sound of young, cheerful voices came from somewhere behind King, who bounded upright, sending a small bowl of candy corn and several Three Musketeers minis wrappers flying everywhere. Her breath came in ragged bursts as she frantically looked around the living room, which was illuminated by purple and orange ghost string lights that were draped across a window, and the television, which displayed a city skyline obscured by heavy rain. 

“Happy Halloween!”

King quickly turned her head at the sound of her brother’s voice. She watched as he shut the door to the apartment, placed a bowl of candy on the dining table and rushed over to her. His lanky frame was a welcome sight after the shit she had just seen.

“Céc! You’re awake!”  
“Wh-what?” King asked groggily. She placed a hand on the muscle between her neck and shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief: it was all still there.  
“_You_ \--” Jean informed her while crossing his arms -- “fell asleep. On Halloween. During this gaming binge we’ve been planning forever.”  
  
King looked up at her brother and flashed him a sheepish grin.  
  
“Candy coma.”  
“Well, candy coma or not, are you okay? You were making weird noises.”  
“I’m fine,” King said quickly. “Never better. I was just… I was having a weird dream, that’s all.”  
  
Jean squinted down at his sister, who turned her attention back to the television.  
  
“Did you beat the game?” she asked.  
“Yep. Are you ready for Claire’s scenario?”  
  
King thought back to her nightmare -- back to the zombies, back to Mr. X, and back to being eviscerated by a Licker. She pressed her lips together, took a deep breath, and held her hand out.  
  
“Give me the controller,” she said while wiggling her fingers.  
“What? You actually wanna _ play _ ?” Jean asked as he handed the device over.  
“Damn right,” King replied. She readjusted her position on the couch, squared her shoulders, and hastily selected the New Game option.  
  
“I want some fucking _ revenge _!”

**Author's Note:**

> I bet you weren't expecting any of that, were you? As always, I have some 'splaining to do - particularly if you're not familiar with Resident Evil 2. (Ten points if you get that reference.)
> 
> * The title of this fic is actually a song from the RE2make soundtrack  
* Marvin Branagh is the critically wounded officer who helps both Leon and Claire during the events inside Raccoon City Police Department.  
* The facts about the RPD building all come from in-game files.  
* The layout of the RPD building is almost accurate, but not quite. Hey, it's a dream, okay?  
* The room with the spade on the door is the West Office. The "Welcome Leon" banner is, of course, for RE2 protag Leon S. Kennedy, the rookie cop with a heart of gold.  
* Elliot Edward and David Ford are two other officers for RPD. Guzman is just some asshole I made up.  
* "Lâche-moi!" = Get off me  
* When King takes the handgun she's reciting the in-game description for Jill Valentine's Samurai Edge handgun, which was a pre-order exclusive for RE2make  
* "Jesus Christ!" is the same thing Leon yells when he first sees Mr. X throw the chopper rubble  
* Lickers, am I right? And, yes, that is exactly how they kill you  
* Are you new here? Previously established in other fics that King's totally-not-canon-even-though-it-totally-should-be real name is Cécile Levasseur. Céc for short, which plays on the canon "Sis" that Jean (not Jan) refers to her by  
* King loves Halloween, and she loves her brother. OF COURSE they were going binge horror-themed games and movies together!
> 
> Alright! That's it! Hope you enjoyed, and I'm sincerely sorry to any of you squeamish folks out there. Go play some RE2 if you haven't already; it's fantastic.


End file.
